Idol
by nonyvole
Summary: There's usually a reason behind idols. One-shot.


Little thing that popped up. Not necessarily connected to any of my other stories, but could be. Nothing in the Marvel Universe is mine.

* * *

Every Saturday night, Phil would sit on his father's lap, turning pages in a photo album, as his father filled the ears of his only child with stories of Captain America.

"After all," his mother would chime in, from where she was sitting in her armchair with her knitting, "we have him to thank, for getting your father home safely. It's just so sad that he vanished like he did. A true hero, that man."

And every Saturday night, Phil would go to sleep with the stories running through his head.

* * *

The only way that Philip fought the draft was by asking to go into the Army. His girlfriend cried and said that it was over, his teachers shook their heads in disappointment, but his father just smiled at him. "Good job," he said, "do us proud, son." He kept his mouth shut through basic, kept his head down in Vietnam, and as soon as he could, applied to OCS. He didn't care that it wasn't West Point; knowing that he'd be an officer and able to somewhat follow in the footsteps of his childhood idol was enough.

When he didn't get in, he just re-enlisted, and started to work his way up from there. After the first few times, people learned to not ask questions about the way that he kept an old photo album in his locker and would look through it every so often. Somehow, he was handed orders one day to report to the next OCS cadre. He hadn't thought he'd applied, but he'd take it.

* * *

The Lieutenant was weird, it was whispered around the barracks at night. He almost seemed angry all the time, upset about something, but he was so incredibly _cold_, whenever people actually thought about it. He spent most of his free time training, or with his nose in a book, but there was the odd weekend that he'd just take off on Friday, returning late Sunday. Whenever that happened, it was whispered, Lieutenant Coulson would actually be seen to smile on Monday.

Nobody ever noticed the things that he brought back from when he went to visit his father in the nursing home.

* * *

"Old-fashioned," is what his fellow recruits called him. "Stick in the mud," said some. "Crazy," said others. Probationary Agent Coulson didn't care, though, not that he now had a place that was larger than his Army locker. The privacy was nice, too, especially since it meant that he could put out everything that he wanted to, without worry that people would take it or laugh...and there was nothing wrong with enjoying history.

The increase in pay and travel also meant that he was able to actively search out more mementos, including finishing the trading card set that his father had started. It took him two years, but finally the photo album was filled.

* * *

The search in the Arctic was always in the back of Agent Coulson's mind, and he just _knew_ that it would be successful. The news that Captain America was actually alive had him taking a day to go visit his father's grave. "We found him," he said, mindless of his suit as he sat on the grass. "I know you had always wondered, but he's alive, and doesn't look like he's aged a day." He adjusted the flowers his mother had asked him to bring, then stood up. "Just wanted to let you know." He shot the tombstone a wry grin. "And yeah, I'm going to ask for his autograph. I may even show it to you."

* * *

Steve Rogers knelt on the ground in front of the two graves, Agents Barton and Romanoff flanking a quietly sobbing Mrs. Coulson. "You raised a good man, sir." He felt awkward, talking to a pair of inanimate objects, but somehow it felt right. "He died a hero, you know. And...here." He placed a laminated piece of paper on the ground, weighing it down with a small box. "Figured that you both would like these." Standing up, he nodded. "Thank you, Agent Coulson." Turning, he held out one arm. "Mrs. Coulson, thank you for letting us visit." Gently, he assisted the older woman back to the car, the two SHIELD agents quietly following.


End file.
